His Favorite Christmas Story
by waterjazz
Summary: Based on the be-a-u-tiful song, traveling man Nicholas thinks he found true love at a party with a girl he danced with. In case you lean in and analyze the story, you will find it IS Maximum Ride. No flames, ladies and gents.


Nicholas pulled off his gloves, rubbing his cold fingers on his warm cheeks. He shrugged out of his thin coat, his traveling coat, and hung it up on a nearby hook. His friend, James, had persuaded him to attend the Christmas Party; he had been a bit of a lone wolf, never staying on one place for too long with too many people. But Jeff had told him he should come, so he had. Underneath his trench coat, he was wearing a light yellow-brown vertical-striped shirt with his work pants, and a pair of brown dress pants. He was also wearing brown suspenders.

He walked over to James, instantly spotting his tall, gangly form and his strawberry-blonde hair. He had a cup of champagne in one hand, the same arm wrapped around his girlfriend, and he was smiling from ear to ear.

"Nick! How great it is to see you!" James boomed, and used his free hand to clap him on the shoulder. Nicholas felt himself cringe. He hated that nickname.

"Same to you, too, Jeff," Nicholas said quietly, and took the glass of wine that Ella, James' girlfriend, handed him. He took a small sip.

"Oh, you have to do better than that! It'll only be 1937 once, you know!" James said happily, and Nicholas smiled weakly at his enthusiasm. _James simply loves living, _he thought, and went to get himself a treat.

He picked up a raisin-oatmeal cookie, and then he saw _her_. "Wow, she's _beautiful_..." Nicholas whispered, the only thing he could say.

She was wearing a pale pink dress that hugged her soft curves, eyelet lace around the waist. He averted his eyes from there and moved his eyes upward. The girl -- or rather, _young woman --_had deep brown eyes, the color of the cup of hot chocolate in her small hands. Her blonde hair was twisted into an elegant bun, and few curls framed her face. Her deep, red lipstick made the dress pop.

When he looked back into her eyes, she looked back at him, he felt desire burn through his veins, and he knew he was in love.

He glanced at the clock. Thirty minutes to eleven, and the party ended at midnight. He wanted to dance with her for as much time as he could, and he took a step.

Nicholas became paralyzed with fear. _What if she thinks I'm gross? Or weird? What if she doesn't like people like me? _He stepped back, and slowly, he gained courage to ask her to dance.

December 24th, at a quarter to eleven, is when he finally got the courage to ask her to dance.

The moved together, years of dancing class for both of them paying off for this one night. The carolers warbled happily as they danced through the night, and when they parted, he didn't get a name out of the beautiful girl.

Upset, he grabbed his coat and gloves, putting them on roughly. He murmured a good-bye to James, who cheerfully yelled his "Caio!" He kissed Ella on the cheek, and left.

* * *

A couple of years later, he was back on the road. Nicholas entered a diner in Maryland on Christmas, shaking his head to get the snow out of his hair. He slid into a seat in the booth, and blew a raspberry with his lips to warm them up.

Suddenly, he heard a giggle from behind him. He turned, blushing, to see a waitress behind him, her curly red hair gathered messily with a clip, and her large, pretty lips decorated with light pink lipstick. She had freckles on her pale face, and laugh lines around her eyes. The waitress took her pen out from the perch on her ear. "Why, shoot, sir! That was the funniest thing I heard come from a man since my father tried to sing!" She said through her laughter, and Nicholas felt his face turn redder.

She sat across from him, fiddling with the pen in her fingers. She smiled sheepishly, and Nick noticed a name tag on her collar. It read, 'Darla'. He smiled.

"Sorry about that," Darla said, tapping the pen on her notepad. "I'm just happy 'cause it's Christmas."

Nicholas'sgrin widened. "Are you going to spend it with anyone?"

She sighed sadly. "Just my parents. Sometimes, I wish some beautiful boy would waltz in 'ta town and fall head-over-heels for me. And the same with myself," she said, "to fall in love with him."

Nicholas chuckled. "Nothing I could do about that, ma'am, I apologize."

She smiled, showing pearly teeth behind her lipstick. Darla said, "Sir, can you spread a little holiday cheer? I would just love to hear a good Christmas story."

Nicholas looked up at her, his mouth prepared with a smile as he started to say, "Here's my favorite Christmas story about that girl with no name." He explained to the young waitress about the girl with no name, whom he danced with those few years ago on Christmas Eve. He still had no idea who she was, but he could still see her dark, beautiful eyes in his mind.

Darla's eyes shown with tears when he said that he said never learned the mystery woman's name, and she blew her small nose loudly -- it sounded very much like a honk -- into the handkerchief Nicholas found in his pocket.

* * *

Although Nicholas traveled often, he finally had a story to share witheveryone he met in the holiday season. From late November to the beginning of January, he shared his story about the girl with no name to every person he talked with. He could still remember her long, brown trenchcoat, and her high heels clacking softly as she walked away, as she walked out of his life forever.

He told everyone his story, and soon, people were calling him the Christmas-Story-Tellin'-Traveling-Man. Not the most original name, but with the war going on, there was no time to stop and think. People obtained what they wanted in front of them, and told it like it is.

While he had been walking down the street, he noticed a young woman, maybe a few years younger than himself, with curly blonde hair and hot chocolate eyes. He stopped on the sidewalk, looking at her, and he had a little voice telling him that _that was his dance partner he never knew well._

He simply smiled, knowing how impossible that was.

* * *

A few decades later, at age fifty three, Nicholas had settled down in a small Pennsylvania town. In his neighborhood, there were a lot of children, and the kids loved coming to his house to listen to his stories of his traveling days. He'd tell them how he met Marilyn Monroe, Frank Sinatra, and Judy Garland -- all popular actors and actresses from the forties and fifties. Nicholas would share his days of helping the Red Cross with WW2, and how he once met Jimmy Stewart on the train when he was twelve years old, and he hadn't seven known.

But every Christmas Eve, the neighborhood children would gather around his worn plaid chair, and he would tell them the story of the girl with no name.

For years they would come to his house, and sooner or later, they all learned the story by heart. Each child, girl or boy, had their own idea of what she looked like. However, only Nicholas knew, what she looked like in full. He can still remember her short, red nails, that matched her ruby red lips. Her curly blonde hair. Her slim ankles.

* * *

Twenty years later, Nicholas was dying. A cold Christmas Morning on a hospital bed, he was alone. All of the children that lived in his neighborhood were grown now, and the only person who was there was the little old nurse who was holding his hand.

Even through his dazed state, he'd suddenly notice things about the nurse. Like, how beautiful her chocolate eyes were. Or how pretty her curly blonde-silver hair was, fanned around her heart shaped face. He also noticed that, on the suspender of her apron, it read "_Max_" in simple script.

Nicholas opened his mouth, and almost on instinct, Max leaned in to hear what he had to say. He whispered, "Ma'am, can you share a little holiday cheer?" He wanted to hear something happy the moments before he passed on.

But something he hadn't suspected were the words that she spoke. His eyes filled with tears when he realized that, what she was saying, what his favorite Christmas Story. She smiled, the crinkles around her eyes lighting up.

"I met him up in Delaware in 1937," Max the nurse started, her red lips smiling. "Though I never caught his name, he was a traveling man." Nicholas closed his eyes and took his last breaths, but he held on to listen what she said. "December 24th, at a quarter to eleven, I'm so glad he got the courage to ask me to dance."

Nicholas died, finally knowing the fate of the girl with no name.

* * *

**This didn't take that long to write. But hell, it was a lot of fun. :D**

**Oh, hell, I was half hoping this would reach 2,000 words. I'm sad now D:**

**I was kinda hoping I'd get it done on Christmas, but procrastination had other plans. But here, a late Chrimboli present for my watchers! Or maybe an early New Year present...? Oh I dunno.**

**I hope you enjoy!**

**My friend on DeviantArt made a piece for this song, too; it actually inspired me to make this. (www . deviantart ) ****.com/art/HisFavoriteChristmasStory-147122900 **

******That's her artwork, she's so great at drawing!**

**song: His Favorite Christmas Story  
artist: Capital Lights**


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